


Before Dawn but After Dusk

by makingitwork



Series: Bughead Prompts [21]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Best Friends to Lovers, Dom Betty, F/M, Fluff, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Masturbation, bughead - Freeform, sub jughead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-26
Updated: 2018-07-26
Packaged: 2019-06-16 18:18:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15442998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makingitwork/pseuds/makingitwork
Summary: Betty changes when the moon comes up.No, she's not a were-wolf.





	Before Dawn but After Dusk

**Author's Note:**

> Because of the lack of subJughead in this fandom even though there should be so much more of him! 
> 
> Betaed by the lovely, beautiful, wonderful (I'm a little bit in love with her) HufflepuffBetty!
> 
> Enjoy!

In the white glare of her laptop screen, she thinks her lips look like wine. Striking shades of garnet, with the smallest creases of crimson. A cherry wine; a strong and rich merlot. The slick blackness of her wig cut across the murky shadows of her bedroom, and her skin was crystal white in the frame.

At the bottom of the screen, her smooth porcelain shoulders and collarbone were visible; framed by her lacy black bralette that hinted at the whisper of the smooth, taught skin of her stomach. She examined herself once more, as a double check, before logging in. She needed to ensure there was nothing recognisable, as she always did. She'd applied thicker foundation across the few stray freckles on her cheek even though she doubted the pixellation would even pick it up. Her eyes were accentuated by thick black lines, and even though they wouldn't be seen on screen, it added to her confidence.

She felt sexy, and powerful, like she always did before these sessions.

Checking her lipstick once more, a little heady and drunk on the physical ascendancy of her appearance, she logged in.

She scrolled leisurely _A private session today_ , she thought to herself, scrolling through the screen. Her room was pitch black behind her, and the light from the screen lit up her face as she perused different online users. Though having an audience was nice, she felt she wanted to exercise some more personal control tonight, more _intimate._ It gave her some sense of order; something she could totally own, a sense of power she didn't get anywhere else. Here, in the darkness of the moon and the privacy of her bedroom, she could finally shed the weight of the bright, sunny exterior she often presented. Gone, for the time being, was the bubbly, girl-next-door, golden girl Cooper, and in her place this psuedo-dominatrix with eyes of midnight. Under the desperate gaze of whoever she chose, she gave the orders, and she decided what would happen, and when it would happen, and how it would happen.

An uncertain question mark drew her attention to the screen. It was blinking, and she felt a small smile grace her lips. _Newbie_ . She clicked on his profile, scanning through his likes and dislikes detachedly, his limits and hard limits and date of joining marked a few minutes ago. His profile was concise and relatively normal with no dirty, sub-carryon  abbreviations and innuendos. He'd do, she thought to herself with a small smirk, newbies were always good. Always so aching and adoring. She caught her succulent, ruby lip between her white teeth and tapped out a message, the keys loud in the silence of her bedroom: **I'm free.** She wrote.

He read it immediately. Icon shining, and she waited for a few moments as he presumably looked through her own profile. They matched up quite nicely, she thought, with their complementary wants. Evidently he thought so too, because instead of rejecting the request, the three dots blossomed onto the screen as he typed. She watched expectantly, smirking at the length of time it took, and the fact that the speech bubble disappeared once or twice. He was nervous. It was cute.

 **I am too. Do you wanna..?** Came through eventually.

She snorted airily through her nose, and clicked on the video call button without any preamble. Her lips, jaw and lace-covered breasts lit up half of the screen, and a black screen shone on the other half. "Come on," she purred, voice soft and fluid. "I don't like not being able to see who I'm talking to. You don't wanna disappoint me, do you?" It was so easy to slip into this persona, and it made every inch of her thrive with power.

"S-shit, I-I- hang on." The audio was of a lower quality than she was used to, but she could still hear the stammered voice of a surprisingly young male. She licked her lips slowly, just to see how it looked on the screen and internally grinning at how fucking _sexy_ she could be. Most of the guys on here, new or not, were older. Trapped in some sexless marriage and desperate for relief. His screen came into focus, and she lifted her eyebrows; glad they couldn't be seen on screen.

His quality was grainier than hers, and he didn't have the light on in his room either. She could see a couch, with a blanket thrown over the top, and the well-defined, leanly muscled torso of the guy. His underwear was peaking up: the waistband visible. He had long, toned arms and the camera cut off just by his chin. He was shy, if the flush along his collar was anything to go by. "Hello," she said, voice sultry, and she had the pleasure of seeing his adam's apple bob. He was attractive. By far the most attractive person she'd ever encounter on here. A brief flash of panic flushed through her; maybe he was into weirder things than his profile said? Maybe that was why he didn't have a real girlfriend? She calmed herself down, hand squeezing her bare thigh. She was in control here. She had the hangup button if anything she didn't like was happening, and she knew how to manoeuvre her way out of rough situations.

 _Relax Cooper._ She chanted to herself. _You've got this._

"H-Hi."

She smiled slowly, and shook her head; letting the soft strands of the black wig caress her jaw. "What's your name, Sweetie?"

There was a pause, and a small, tense laugh. "Wow, this really is a sex line, huh?" He muttered. She watched as he rubbed his arm and attempted to come to terms with the situation he was in. There was another little self-deprecating laugh, as he seemed to accept that he was _that_ guy now. "I'm uh- J-Forsythe."

She laughed, nodding. It wasn’t the weirdest she’d had, as far as fake names went. "Alright, Forsythe. You're nervous, huh?"

"Never done anything like it," he said, voice dry. She nodded understandingly.

"Is there something in particular you'd like?"

"I just-" frustration was pinched into his voice. "I want- life sucks sometimes, yeah? I mean you're a person on the other side of that screen. With a life outside of...this..." he gestured anxiously with his hand, and she watched curiously. He was certainly a lot more civilised than a number of her other clients. "Sometimes I want to be able to...to just let someone else take the lead. A little bit of guidance, isn't that okay? Why is it so taboo-"

"You want to be controlled," she said with a small nod. "I get it, honey, it's okay. Shhh, no need to stress about it anymore." She watched victoriously as his shoulders sagged and felt some kinship with him. It was difficult sometimes, to come to terms with what it was you wanted, and harder still if you felt that there were seen as tabboo from society. "You want someone to tell you it's gonna be okay, right? I've got you. Nothing matters but me. Understand?"

He nodded roughly, forgetting that she couldn't see his head, but she could tell from the shaking of his shoulders.

"Good. Take yourself out."

He was obviously startled by the request, but obeyed her instantly. The laptop ended up shuffling back on his knees, and she got a little bit more of his body. His shoulders, and the cut of his sharp jaw came into view. Yes, definitely handsome, she thought to herself. She let a self-satisfied smirk cross the scarlet currant of her lips at how hard he was. It always served her well, to see how quickly men clambered over themselves at the sight of her. And this guy was definitely head and shoulders above the rest.

"You're a good boy," she murmured, testing the water, and she bit back her victorious look when she heard his broken moan into the microphone. "You're such a good boy for me, aren't you? Rub your thumb over the tip."

He was quick, eager to obey, fingers shaking.

She worked him like that for a while, and for the first time found a small heat burning between her thighs. She ignored it; surprised with herself. The power wasn't usually something that got her off, it just made her feel sated in a different way. But watching the quick movement of his hand, hearing his hitched breath into her ear and the whispered swear words, was heating her own skin. He stopped when she told him, immediately but whining, and moved with the exact speed that she described. She edged him a few times, until she noted the time, and cursed herself. She'd become wrapped up in it, and so with a regretful sigh decided it was probably time to let him arrive.

"Speed up." She ordered casually, and his hand became a flurry of movement, blurred over the screen. "When I say now, you're going to cum for me, aren't you, Forsythe?"

He whined; high pitched and desperate, nodding again. “I- y-you’re... _god.”_ He chanted, reverence heavy in his tone. He was sweet as sugar, and she hoped he’d stick around the site.

"Good boy," she watched as the sweat glistened over his skin, and licked her lips slowly, knowing his eyes were on her. She let her thumb settle on her lower lip, and swiped out her tongue to dart across it. He got faster. " _Now."_

He came instantly, with such force that it jostled the laptop, and she froze in horror as his face came into view.

No.

No, it couldn't be.

Just as soon as she'd seen it, the camera settled, and his heaving chest was back into frame. He was panting, messy and thoroughly sated. "Thank you," he whispered, voice low and sleepy. "Jesus, you're...I mean...thank you..."

She realised suddenly that he hadn't asked her to take anything off. _Everyone_ asked her to take something off. "No worries." She said through clenched teeth, and hung up brashly so she could breathe.

Jughead Jones.

_Jughead Jones._

 

Things weren't clearer in the morning. She walked to school in a daze, tugging at the high hem of her collar. Jughead was...well Jughead was Jughead. Her co-writer at the _blue and gold_ , the one who came with her whenever she was following a lead and interrogated suspects at her side. He was the guy who threw punches at anyone who said anything sneering at her, and the one who happily cheated off her in every assignment even though she knew he could do a lot of the work better than her. Her lunch buddy when Archie and Veronica were being OTT, and her study buddy. That Jughead, apparently needed sexual relief.

It was weird to think of him as a...sexual being.

But, she supposed, people probably didn't think of her as a sexual being. Buttoned-up Betty roamed the halls without even a glimmer of sexuality beyond the vibrant pink femininity of her wardrobe. Even when people did find her attractive, it was more because she was beautiful, in a sweet and wholesome, cornfed type of way. She was bright and beaming; as persistent and friendly as the warm morning sun. She didn't have the fiery fierceness of Cheryl, or the coquettish allure of Veronica. Jughead needing control...well, that made sense. He had to control nearly everything in his life. He looked after his dad as if he were the father, fended for himself as if he were his own mother; looked out for the serpents and dealt with hardships on a weekly basis- probably more, but Betty knew he didn't like to worry her.

He needed someone to tether him, and Betty needed someone to tether.

"My favourite Nancy Drew Golden Girl," came a low voice, and she blushed deeply as Jughead flung his arm over her. Arms she had seen last night. Arms she'd never seen otherwise. Always hidden beneath layers of flannel. "I was thinking we'd check out the White Wyrm tip this evening, if you're free? Mustang's being his usual, morally dubious self and I think we should see for ourselves what he's actually doing."

Bety was still focused on his arm. She wondered how on earth she was going to cope. She knew what his...what his...what _it_ looked like, down there. She knew what he looked like in the throes of orgasm. How were his casual touches to be seen now? Now that she knew how his fingers curled around his member, and how they typed quickly onto his keyboard, could she look at him the same?

"Earth to Betty," came his teasing voice, and she curled into him instinctively, taking a breath.

"Maybe tomorrow night, Juggie? I think I need a night off from it all."

He nodded amiably, arm still slung over her as they headed to the news office. "I get that. I feel like this entire town could use with a hassle-free day. You ok, though?" There was concern in his eyes, and his grip around her was tight and reassuring. “Because if there’s anyone deserving of a night off, it’s you.”

“I’m fine.” She smiled, relieved, and tried to keep her eyes on his face for the rest of the day. He seemed so much more relaxed today, as if the string that held him had been cut, and she wondered how much of it was down to her. She wondered how much tension he’d been bottling over the past few weeks without cathartic release. At lunch, he stole her fries, and winked at her, and in English when her mark was lower than expected, he smoothed his thumb (that had been smoothing something very different last night) over her fingers, before lifting them up and kissing them gently.

He liked her, she realised. Even though she'd sort of always known. He'd always liked her. Always wanted her. Always wanted _this_ Betty. The boring Betty. The neurotic, not quite right Betty.

It made her a little giddy.

So she let him take her fries, and stole his lettuce in retaliation (not that he minded), and let her fingers linger on his face, before pulling them back to her side.

His hopeful, self-satisfied smile was enough to ease any awkwardness she felt and she fell into the fond, familiar pattern of sticking by his side.

 

Until that night.

She logged in, eager and anxious, in her black lace and garnet lipstick, to find a message waiting for her. She clicked on it and released a breath she didn’t know she was holding.

 **Are you free?** Blinked up at her innocuously.

It was Jughead. Forsythe. She wondered briefly whether it was his real name, and remembered a summer where they’d played truth or dare and she’d asked for his name. He’d chickened out and done the forfeit. It’s a little difficult to reconcile the sight of Jughead panting into the camera, with the picture of a much younger Jughead eating a fistful of mud. But it’s not as hard as it could be. Before she could help herself, she replied. His message was from seven minutes ago, and she assumed he'd still be online. He was.

He was ringing.

She answered it slowly, and the sight of his chest was there again. She could recognise the couch now, and the blanket. She’d sat beside him on that couch doing history assignments, talking to him about his dad, watching re-runs of awful detective shows. _Was this wrong?_ She thought. "Are you hard for me already?" She asked instead, and relished the sharp intake of his breath.

"Y-yeah," he whispered, one hand dipping into the waistband of his underwear. She watched as he touched himself, and tried to merge the two people with the one she knew and loved.

"You enjoyed last night then, hm?"

His body jerked with what she assumed was a nod. One of her hands strayed towards her underwear. She toyed with the frilly hem of them. "You ar-are, it was- I mean, it was great. Usually..." he let out a frustrated huff. "Usually I can't... _you know._ "

Jughead was so eloquent. This guy, was not. “You feel trapped on the edge,” she murmured knowingly, dragging the hand that wasn’t between her thighs along the table top. “You need someone to help you over it. You need me.” Her voice dropped into a whisper, and his whimper was keening and intoxicating. “If was there, I’d push you onto the bed and straddle you.”

 “J-jesus, I-”

“Pin your hands to the bed,” she continued, voice light and tempting. “Straddle you. You’d let me do that, wouldn’t you?”

 “Yes- _fuck,_ yes.” He hissed, hand wrapped around his cock. She could picture it in her head now. Jughead pressed against the mattress, eyes looking up at her in a mixture of awe and worship. She clenched her thighs together; heat throbbing wantonly between them.

Their session ran longer this time, and half way through it Betty let her hand dip into the lace of her underwear, let her fingers move in quick circles at a speed that matched Jughead’s thrusts. They arrived together, and she breathed harshly into the microphone; cheeks flushed in the lens. She tried to get herself together, fanning her face just off the screen as Jughead cleaned himself up and panted a litany of gratitude. She could feel sweat slicked across her arms and forehead, and now that she was riding down off the high; wanted to burrow into the crook of his arms. “That was- I mean,” his grainy voice came through; rough with desire and fatigue. “Can this be- a regular thing? I mean, you probably have others, but I-” 

“Same time tomorrow night.” She said, more clinically than she felt, and as the camera tipped back she could see the pleased quirk of his lips. He readjusted it quickly, reaching a hand up presumably to swipe through his hair the way he did in class.

 “O-okay, great. Can I- I mean, what’s your name?”

She sucked her bottom lip into her mouth, and he swallowed.

“I mean- you don’t have to tell me, I just-”

“It’s Beth,” he said quickly, and he paused.

“Hi, Beth,” he said gently, and she bit back her smile. “Same time again tomorrow night?”

“Goodbye, Forsythe.”

“G’night, Beth,” he said around a yawn, before their screen’s logged off at the same time. She stayed at her desk chair for a moment more; heart fluttering and feeling the way she did when someone gave her an earnest, unexpected compliment. She closed the tab and shut the laptop slowly; collapsing into bed and dreaming of his arms.

 

Having Jughead in her room was a somewhat surreal experience.

Seeing him lounging on her bed with a bowl of potato chips as he scribbled annotations onto a beaten copy of _Of Mice and Men,_ seemed unreal. Betty crossed her legs up onto her desk chair, and tried to focus. She was extremely aware of the fact that she’d sat right here last night as one of the oldest friends had moaned into her ear. She’d been sitting right here as she’d arrived; her eyes lidded and focused on the taught flexing of his stomach. She peeked a look up at him; in his s tee, and plaid shirt, and dark jeans and mismatched socks. He looked soft and lumpy, and she felt good. Good at knowing that she wasn’t the only person with two sides. That Jughead, her lovely Jughead who had been with her since forever, was the same way. It made her feel...it made her feel normal. Accepted. In a way she hadn’t felt for a long time.

“D’you think your mom would be cool if I went downstairs and grabbed some dip?” He asked; scribbling down some final annotations before looking up at her with happy green eyes.

“My mom is never cool.” Betty informed him brightly, rising from the chair, and Jughead laughed. She walked towards the door, waving away his attempt to get up. “I’ll get it for you. I want some water anyway.”

He beamed, snuggling back into the blankets. “I’d try to be chivalrous and stop you but your bed is my life.” He informed her, picking the bowl up again and balancing it on his chest. She leaned down to flick his forehead and he batted her fingers away. She used the opportunity of being away from him to calm down. She took a long, cool sip of water and a couple of deep breaths. She felt a little burdened by this knowledge. She couldn’t fight the instinct that knowing whilst he didn’t know was wrong, but she was too scared to bring it up. Frightened that it would mean they’d have to stop. And if the strength, and pleasure of her orgasm last night was any indication; she didn’t want to. She didn’t want to lose it.

When she got back to the bedroom, he was reabsorbed by the novel, so she set the dip by his elbow and headed back to the desk. They worked in pleasant silence for a while, before he finished the chapter and looked up dazedly. “Oh! Thanks, Betts,” he grinned, unscrewing the lid. “You spoil me, really.”

She smoothed out the corner of her cue card. “Hey Jug,” she murmured, capping the lid of her pink gel pen. “Have you ever had...you know,” she kept her eyes on the pen in her fingers. “Sex?”

He paused in his munching, and the sound of him swallowing resonated loudly in the room. She risked a look up at him, to see his surprised, slightly flustered face. “Uh, why? Are you thinking-”

“I was just wondering,” she said with a disarming smile, “you know, sex seems to be the rage amongst our age demographic. Are we both in the same boat?”

His face softened sweetly, and he huffed a laugh. “I had very awful, very regrettable sex with a girl last year. It was clumsy and awkward and Betty, you’re not missing a thing.”

She watched him curiously. She could believe he’d had sex; his dad was often not at home, and he was attractive. It hadn’t been satisfying though, that much was obvious. She bit her bottom lip and half nodded. Her ponytail fell softly down one side of her neck, and she let it tickle her collar bone. “You never talk about girls.” She pointed out, and he looked at her over the top of the book.

“I talk about _you.”_ He said meaningfully. “You’re the only girl I want to talk about, you know that,”

She blushed, looking down at her hands. “All this time-”

“Probably since we were ten,” he interrupted wistfully, snorting as he dunked a chip into the dip. “I remember you tore apart your sandwich for those seagulls and I thought yup, she’s the one.” He accentuated the words with the snap of the chip against his teeth, and he dusted his hands happily onto his jeans. There was a teasing lilt in his voice, but she knew the words were genuine. He watched her thoughtfully. “Why are you asking about all this now, Betty? You know I’m happy with friendship so long as you’re happy with friendship-”

“Yeah, but that’s the thing,” she whispered, fiddling with the cap. “I might want...more, sometime, I don’t know.”

He was sitting up now, concerned. “Betty, you know I’ll always be here, right?” He laughed lightly, “you’re the only one for me, and whether you want me or not, ever or not now- I’ll be here. Okay? Please, don’t feel…” he looked around, “don’t feel rushed, alright? You should take all the time you want.”

She swallowed hard, looking up at him head on, and easing at the sincerity in his expression. But it wouldn’t work, would it? He thought she was...he thought she was vanilla, and she wasn’t, and he didn’t even want that, and they’d both be pretending. “What do you think…” her mouth was dry, despite the water. “What do you think _I’d_ be like, in...bed?”

He looked flummoxed, as if she’d caught him off guard. There was the same stillness to his limbs as there had been the first time she’d ordered him to touch himself, and just like then, he rushed to answer her. “I think you’d be perfect,” he said quickly, before wincing at this lack of tact. “I mean- obviously I don’t know, but however you were, and-and whatever you liked, I think you’d be…” he trailed off shyly, “perfect.”

Perfect Betty Cooper. She looked down despondently. It wasn’t that she didn’t like radiating sunshine out of every pore, but she didn’t want to do it all the time. She wanted to be able to switch off. _He likes it when you’re cool darkness_ said the voice in her head, and she hummed thoughtfully as she played with the hem of her skirt. Yes he did, in fact, it was what tipped him over the edge. She watched as he stared out of the window; clearly embarrassed and upset that he’d seemed to hurt her feelings. “I think I...I think I’d want to...be a little bit dominant,” she said quietly.

His head whipped towards her so fast she thought his neck might snap. She met his eyes bravely, and he stared at her; lips parted. “Yeah?” He whispered.

She nodded. “Is that weird? I don’t know, I just...I think I might like to lead. To take...control, a little.”

She tried to hide her smile behind her hands at the shine of arousal in his eyes. His voice dropped; husky and thick. “I uh- that’s not weird,” he managed, his hair flopping down into his forehead. “That’s...good.” His voice broke on the vowels, and he stared down at his book, a blush crawling up his cheeks.

“You still think that would be…” she toyed with the word, “...perfect?”

He nodded immediately. “Better than.” He insisted, and she bit her lip; smiling.

“Okay.” She whispered.

“Okay.” He echoed.

They made eye contact, and turned away; blushing.

 

They had their first kiss a few days later; huddled under Betty’s umbrella and sheltered from the rain after he’d walked her home. It had been cold, wet and clumsy, and absolutely perfect. When the moon appeared in the sky that night, she bit the bullet and logged in. She was lying in bed in her over-sized pyjamas, blonde hair splayed out onto the cushions, as she signed into her account. She hadn’t been on it since her talk with Jughead, and she saw a blinking **1** in her inbox. She clicked on it, and drew the blankets up to her chest as she saw it was dated two nights ago. 

It was from Jughead, and it read: **It took me a while, but I finally recognised what those lips look like in something other than perfect pink lipgloss.**

She stared; uncomprehending for a moment. But that meant- if Jughead knew- she laughed to herself in amazement. He’d still kissed her in the rain; cupping her cheeks as if she were something precious and delicate. He wasn’t treating her like she was this dominant, sex goddess all the time. Which she _wasn’t._ Only sometimes, only at night, only in person with him, someday. She reached for her phone, and scrolled to his name. She hovered over it for a moment, feeling obscenely grateful he existed, before shutting her laptop and shoving it away, getting comfortable and hitting call.

It was answered on the fourth ring.

“Betty?” came the slightly slurred voice of Jughead, he’d probably been sleeping. She’d feel bad about about it in the morning.

“Are you lying in bed, Juggie?” She asked, voice sultry and she beamed at his sharp intake of breath.

“Yeah,” he whispered, now wide awake.

“Would you like to tip over the cliff edge together?”

_“God yes. Yes please.”_

She grinned, one hand snaking into her underwear; knowing that somewhere on the other end of town; he was doing the same thing.

**Author's Note:**

> Comment/Prompt/Love?
> 
> Thank you for reading! xxxx mwah mwah mwah


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